The Heirloom Brides Collection

by Tracey V. Bateman

  Stuart scowled. “What are we supposed to do about it? You already know she’s stubborn as that horse of Old Joe’s. She’s not going to accept anything she suspects is close to charity.”

  Ma lowered her voice as Betsy swung back through the kitchen door, carrying two more plates and headed straight for their table. “I’ll just have to find a way to convince her she’s the one being charitable.”

  As Betsy set their food on the table, Stuart noted the dark smudges beneath her eyes. Ma was right; they would have to find a way to get her out of this place. If she would let them. One thing he knew for sure: she would have to believe it was her idea.

  He ate as slowly as he could, but an hour later, when the table next to them had changed customers three times while they sat there, his mother leaned over. “Stuart, I’m tired. You can’t stay here all night.”

  He glanced around as they stood, looking for Betsy, who hadn’t been in the dining room for the past fifteen minutes. To his disappointment and Ma’s annoyance, Miss Annie had taken over at the tables. “You two leaving us?” Miss Annie hurried to them, smiling as though she had no idea how much Ma despised her. But was there any reason for her to know? Ma had a way of being sweet as pie, and only he could tell she was spitting mad all the while.

  He nodded and reached into his jacket pocket for the price of their meal. “It was delicious, Miss Annie.”

  The older woman flushed with pleasure. “Why, thank you. And how did you find our new girl?”

  Ma patted his back. “We found her simply delightful, didn’t we, Son?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And such prompt service. Why, we would have had a wonderful meal even if, say, the chicken had been a little dry, not that I’m saying it was, of course.”

  Miss Annie sniffed and lifted her chin. “I should say not.”

  As they left the restaurant and began the short walk home, Stuart smiled. “Did you really think the chicken was dry, or were you just trying to get under Miss Annie’s skin?”

  “I’d have been ashamed to serve it. I had to wash down every bite with a sip of tea.”

  They walked in silence, while Stuart replayed the evening in his mind. Betsy had moved around the dining room in a blur without making the customers feel her rushing. She’d remained pleasant and smiled, even when Miss Annie bellowed her name from the kitchen. Never once had she revealed the frustration she must certainly have felt, nor had she neglected the patrons’ needs.

  “She’s something, isn’t she?”

  Ma gave a huff. “I know you’re not talking about Annie.”

  He chuckled. “No, Ma. I mean Betsy.”

  “Don’t pretend you’ve never noticed how special that girl is before now. I remember when you were a boy in school…”

  “Yes, Ma. I was a little sweet on her.”

  “That’s the first time you’ve ever told the truth about that. It’s about time. That Betsy’s a flower in a field of crabgrass.”

  “She’s mighty quick tempered.”

  Ma gave a snort as they reached the edge of the wrought-iron fence surrounding their house. “She has a backbone.”

  “Which some people consider to be stubbornness.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. Why, your pa was the stubbornest man I ever knew, but that didn’t stop me from loving him every day since I came to Tucker’s Creek to teach school.” She sighed. “And he was awfully good to you and your sister, as well.”

  Stuart helped her up the steps. Ma had been growing stiffer and complained about the steps being hard on her. It was a shame his sister, Ruth, had married a wanderer and moved out West after Pa died. She would have been a big help for Ma.

  As he opened the door and let her walk in first, he hung back. “I believe I’ll sit out here for a few minutes.”

  “Something on your mind?” He could tell by the lilt in her voice that Ma assumed she knew exactly what, or who, was on his mind, but he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of confirming her suspicion.

  “Just don’t think we’ll have too many more nights like this before winter sets in all the way.”

  She smiled and nodded. “All right, Son. Don’t stay up too late. We have another full day of inventory tomorrow.” She hesitated. “I suppose we should plan to eat at the restaurant the rest of this week. I’m afraid the extra work tires me out.”

  “Ma…”

  “Fine. If you’d rather I wear myself to the bone, cooking your supper, I guess I can. Of course, we’re also about out of bread, so that’ll need to be done, too. I best stay up all night so it can rise properly.”

  “For mercy’s sake, Ma. Of course I don’t want you wearing yourself out. We’ll eat Miss Annie’s dry chicken, and you can keep an eye on Betsy.” He grinned. “Feel better?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Of course not.” Leaning forward, he kissed her cheek. “Go to bed, Ma. You need your rest.”

  Ma’s eyes softened, and she reached up and patted his cheek. “I’m glad you’re finally seeing Betsy for the fine young woman she is. Will you be giving her back the watch?”

  Annoyance tightened his chest. “No. I bought it. It’s mine. I’m sorry, Ma. But you know I can’t give it up. And you know why.”

  “Fine. Break that girl’s heart when you have it within your means to give her a moment of happiness that she so richly deserves. A little kindness—”

  “Good night, Ma.”

  Reaching forward, he grabbed the latch and pulled the door shut. He walked toward the rocking chair that sat on the porch just to the right of the door and sat, staring into the starry sky. Ma knew why he wanted that watch, and he’d bought it fair and square. Truth be told, he’d probably paid too much. And as much as he was beginning to admire Betsy Lowell, he had just as much a claim to it as she did. More so now, because he was the one who owned it.

  Betsy’s legs felt wooden as she trudged up the long steps to her small room above the restaurant. The weather had turned cold again in the past two weeks, but she barely felt it as she dropped onto the top step and lay back, staring at the sky. It had been three weeks since Pops’ accident, three weeks since everything she thought she knew about her life had turned out to be a lie.

  The work was hard but honest, and she was grateful and proud to hand over three dollars each week to Mrs. Avery for the doctor fees. Each week, Doc and his wife tried to give the money back, but she wouldn’t think of it. Rather than argue, they eventually gave in.

  Miss Annie was a harsh taskmaster, but Betsy admired a woman who had become a widow only five years after her marriage and had enough pluck to start a business and care for herself. She smiled through the criticism and did as she was told. After all, Miss Annie didn’t ask any more of her than she did of herself. She was at the restaurant an hour before Betsy and left an hour after, every day.

  Betsy was beginning to settle into her daily routine, and constant fatigue was becoming as familiar as washing her hands or eating dinner. But she couldn’t think about how tired she felt or the years of drudgery ahead of her.

  Pops was recovering slowly. On Sunday, the doctor had expressed concern that his lungs didn’t sound good and pneumonia was a possibility. The thought terrified her, and she prayed more often and with more fervency than she’d ever prayed before. That was one good thing about being forced to attend services on Sunday. She was finding peace in silence and had learned that talking to God made her feel better about things in general. It was almost as though He was helping her get through each day.

  With a deep sigh, Betsy closed her eyes, determined to stay there only another minute while she gathered the strength to pull her weary body from the porch and fall into bed.

  Betsy awoke, shivering, and sat up, realizing she’d fallen sound asleep. Her dress was covered with snow and her hands felt like ice. She hurried into her room. The fire had long since gone out, but she was too cold and weary to start another. Stripping off the dress, she hung it up on her
peg, hoping it would dry before she had to rise in a couple of hours. She crawled under two heavy quilts, closed her eyes, and drifted off again.

  The next time she woke, it was to insistent thudding on the floor. She opened her eyes slowly, her brain messy and confused as she sat up and tried to make sense of the sound. Thud-thud-thud. Suddenly she realized where the sound was coming from. She flew from her bed and grabbed her still-damp dress from the peg. There was no time to iron it, but that couldn’t be helped. Dread twisted her stomach as she hooked her boots and raced down the steps.

  Miss Annie glared at her. “You’re fifteen minutes late.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry. I didn’t wake up.”

  “I didn’t hire you to be a lay-about. I hired you to work. If you can’t be here on time…” Her frown deepened as she scanned Betsy’s appearance. “Did you sleep in that dress?”

  “No, ma’am.” Well, not exactly. She’d intended to iron it crisp and tidy.

  “Obviously you can’t serve customers that way. Go upstairs, and don’t come down until you’re presentable. You’ll have to come in early tomorrow to make up the time.”

  Relief flooded over Betsy that she wasn’t being fired on the spot. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And be quick. I can’t do everything myself.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Breathless, Betsy took the steps two at a time. She built a fire in the stove and set the iron on top to get warm, then stripped off her dress. While she waited for the iron to heat up, she straightened her disheveled quilts and then sat on the edge of her bed. Overwhelming fatigue came over her, and if she sat there a second longer, she would lie back and risk falling asleep. She forced herself to stand.

  By the time Miss Annie resumed her thudding on the ceiling, Betsy was already headed toward the door. She had washed her face, brushed out her thick, long hair and retwisted it into a neat chignon. Her gown looked as though it had just been laundered. All in all, she owed Miss Annie forty-five minutes, but the extra time today was worth it. Or so she thought.

  Miss Annie’s face was mottled with anger. “High time you got back here,” she snapped.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I had to build a fire to heat the iron.”

  “I don’t want your excuses.” She grabbed Betsy’s arm, her fingers shoving into delicate skin. “Get over here and watch this bacon. If it burns, I’m taking it out of your wages.”

  Betsy couldn’t imagine what had happened to anger the woman so much. She had never seen this side of Miss Annie and had certainly never been on the receiving end of a violent outburst. But she didn’t dare speak up. She had to keep this position.

  She worked harder that day than she’d ever worked before, trying desperately to make it up to Miss Annie. By the time the lunch customers were all gone and they closed down to clean up and prepare for supper, Betsy’s stomach felt hollow. She hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday. Despite Miss Annie’s promise of two meals a day—one for working at the restaurant and the other included in her rent for the room—Miss Annie often forgot to allow her to stop for lunch.

  She waited for Miss Annie to tell her to get something to eat before they started to clean up, but the woman seemed preoccupied. After the rough start that morning, Betsy didn’t have the nerve to request a meal. At five, Miss Annie opened the doors, and once more, the dining room filled with customers. Betsy fought a wave of dizziness as she took out her first plates. She’d never been a heavy eater, but she’d always had regular meals.

  Her spirits lifted when Stuart and Mrs. Fields entered the restaurant an hour later. They hadn’t been in for supper at all this week. She hurried to the door and led them to an empty table.

  Mrs. Fields frowned a little. “Betsy, you’re getting much too thin, honey. That dress is practically hanging from your bones. Are you eating?”

  Averting her gaze, Betsy did the only thing she could. “Yes, ma’am. I’m just not used to working so much.”

  “I think I should have a talk with Annie. She certainly doesn’t look like a woman who misses meals.”

  Alarm seized Betsy. If Mrs. Fields said anything on her behalf, the woman would think she’d been complaining. And that wasn’t tolerated. “Please, no, ma’am. I eat plenty. I promise.”

  Stuart reached across the table and touched his ma’s hand. “Ma. Leave Betsy alone.” He glanced up, but Betsy noticed his somber scrutiny, as well. “Bring us the special and two glasses of tea.”

  “Yes, sir.” Grateful to be away from their watchful eyes, Betsy hurried to the kitchen to place the order with Miss Annie. “Two plates of roast venison, fried potatoes, and green beans for Mrs. Fields and Stuart.”

  Annie turned from the stove. Her face glistened with sweat from the heat. “They’ve been coming in here a lot lately. Something special between you and the Fields boy?”

  “Why, no. He’s been kind about Pops, is all.”

  “Well, you just remember what I said about gentleman callers.”

  “Of course.”

  “Did… Mrs. Fields… say anything?” Miss Annie turned back to the stove and dished up the plates. She set them on the counter. Betsy couldn’t help but eye them hungrily.

  “I asked you a question, Betsy. Did she say anything?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “It’s not a difficult question.” Her voice was gaining an edge that sent Betsy’s heart racing.

  “Ma’am, the only thing she said was that I was getting too thin and I should eat more.” A gasp from the older woman jerked Betsy’s head up. “Are you okay, Miss Annie?”

  The older woman’s shoulders slumped, and her eyes softened. “Betsy, why didn’t you remind me you didn’t stop to eat today? Honey, go take that out and then get yourself back in here and eat. It’s been a… difficult time today and I’ve been distracted. I’m sorry.”

  “What about the customers, ma’am?”

  “Don’t you worry yourself about them until you have a proper meal inside that little body.” Her eyes moved over Betsy’s form. “She’s right. You’re growing too thin.”

  More confused than ever by Miss Annie’s odd behavior, Betsy grabbed the two plates and set them in front of Stuart and his mother.

  She noticed the glow in Mrs. Fields’ eyes as she stared into a locket pinned to her dress. As the woman glanced up, Betsy realized that glow was the glisten of tears. “Is everything okay?”

  Mrs. Fields closed the locket and placed her napkin on her lap. “Of course, dear. Everything is fine.”

  Betsy frowned, turning to Stuart.

  “My pa died six years ago today. We’ve been to visit his grave.”

  Placing her hand on the woman’s shoulder, Betsy gave a sympathetic squeeze. “Seems like today hasn’t been too good for anyone.”

  Mrs. Fields reached up and covered Betsy’s hand with her own. “Everything okay with your grandpa?”

  “Oh, yes. I just overslept and made Miss Annie angry. But she is also having a difficult time today. I just feel awful that I caused it.”

  With a sigh, Mrs. Fields sought her gaze. “That woman’s difficult day has nothing to do with you.”

  Betsy turned to Stuart as Mrs. Fields attacked her food, ending the conversation. Stuart frowned and shook his head, clearly just as confused as she was.

  Trudging back to the kitchen, Betsy sat at Miss Annie’s command and ate. How grateful she would be when this day ended and she could crawl into her bed and forget it had ever happened.

  Chapter Seven

  Stuart sang with gusto as the minister led the congregation in a rousing chorus of “Bringing in the Sheaves.” He tried not to stare at Betsy as she stood next to Miss Annie, sharing a hymnal but not moving her lips. He had a feeling she wasn’t crazy about the idea of being forced to keep the Sabbath, but it was widely known that one of Miss Annie’s rules for her employees was propriety at all times and regular attendance on Sundays.

  A nudge from Ma brought heat to his neck, and he forced his eyes to
the front as the song ended and Reverend Beck told them to be seated.

  Sitting on a hard bench, Stuart found it difficult to concentrate on anything coming from the man’s lips, but after an hour, the service was dismissed. They greeted the reverend at the door, and Ma spent a few seconds extolling the man’s speaking gifts. Stuart scanned the churchyard and found Betsy standing with Miss Annie. He wanted badly to go and speak to Betsy, but with practically the entire town standing around, he didn’t want to give anyone a reason to gossip.

  Ma took his arm as they walked—he with reluctance—toward home. The doctor and Mrs. Avery pulled up beside them in the buggy. “Hello, Nan, Stuart,” Mrs. Avery said. “You left so fast I didn’t have an opportunity to invite you to dinner this evening. Will you join us?”

  “We’d love to.” Ma smiled. “That’s very kind. I’ll bring a pie.”

  “Bring enough for Betsy.” Mrs. Avery cast a sly glance toward Stuart and grinned. “She’ll be there, too.”

  A little giggle left Ma as Doc and his wife drove away.

  “What?”

  “Seems as though I’m not the only one who knows you’re sweet on that girl.”

  “Ma, please.” He released a heavy sigh. “I don’t need help with courting.”

  “Well, she’s been in town for almost a month, and you haven’t so much as taken her flowers.”

  “Flowers? Where am I going to find flowers in the winter?”

  “Then I suppose you’ll have to get creative until spring.” She shrugged. “But I warn you, you are not the only young man in this town starting to notice that girl. There are more widowers and bachelors in the township than you can shake a stick at—at least two for every marriage-age young woman. If you’re not careful, someone else is going to snatch her up and carry her off before you can find a flower. Not to mention courage.”

  “Ma, this is my own concern, not yours. And Betsy Lowell is certainly not looking to get herself hitched. The first thing she did was go and find a position to take care of Old Joe.” Most other girls would have found a man, not a place to work.